Recollector
by J.R. Watkins
Summary: Eric enters the glamoring business, but some memories are best not forgotten. E/S, AU, canon characters, rated M, in progress. For Deborah.
1. Chapter 1

Recollector

"That woman is here."

Eric Northman raised his head from where it rested in his hands and smiled. "Dr. Bramwell?" he asked, mildly amused that despite both he and his Child having known the psychiatrist for almost six months, she was still 'that woman.'

The blonde in front of him shrugged and turned to face him. "Are you smiling?" she asked in disbelief. The question escaped before she could stop herself, and Eric immediately frowned.

"Of course not," he said quickly, waving a large, pale hand toward the door. "Show her in, Pamela."

He waited, listening, as Pam wordlessly led the equally taciturn woman through the empty club, before rising from his seat. "Doctor," he said, nodding, as the pair entered.

"Sheriff."

Pam hastily gestured to the couch facing Eric's desk, as she did every Saturday evening, and leaned against the door, closing it. "Shall we?" she asked, pulling out her phone. Pam detested the weekly meetings and what they represented, but most of all, why they had come to be.

Dr. Bramwell settled her small frame on the couch and pulled out her leather-bound planner, which earned a quiet sigh from Pam. There was little the doctor could do, right or wrong, that didn't earn Pam's disapproval, and her tolerance was rapidly waning. Shooting her a look, Eric took his seat and leaned back in the chair to observe.

Henrietta Bramwell, the human, had been the eldest daughter of a prominent turn-of-the century psychiatrist, in whose footsteps she had followed to her own position on-staff at the infamous Bellevue Hospital in New York. Centuries younger at her turning than Pam, and more than a millenium younger than Eric, he once wondered of Dr. Bramwell exactly what had motivated a fellow vampire to take interest in the quiet, serious woman in front of him. She was young for their kind, though he estimated her to have been middle-aged as a human.

"Wednesday will not work," he heard Pam say hastily, rousing him from his thoughts. "Reschedule it."

Raising an eyebrow, the doctor dutifully scratched across the paper of her planner and waited patiently while Pam tapped at her phone. "Friday, then?" Dr. Bramwell asked.

"Fine."

Eric's thoughts strayed again as he vaguely listened to the mingling of the women's voices, their accents not that dissimilar. At times Pam's English origins could be heard in her accent, particularly when she was angry, and it was much like the odd, clipped tones of Dr. Bramwell's upper-class manner of speech.

"Getting all that, Sheriff?" Dr. Bramwell suddenly asked, nearly startling him.

"Mesmerized," he replied, smirking at his own joke. He considered all of it a joke. That she would call him on his apparent lack of interest was ludicrous, as was the entire nature of their relationship.

"As always," the psychiatrist murmured, shoving her things back into her bag and standing. There was a distinct lack of deference between her and the local vampire Sheriff, on both their parts, which Pam found ominous.

"I'll show you out," she said briskly, ignoring the uncharacteristic eyeroll of her Maker as well as the way he loudly propped his heavy boots on top of his desk. She led the prim-looking vampire through the now-crowded night club as quickly as possible, grateful she didn't ask to stop at the bar as she had once before. It had been the longest thirty minutes of Pam's undead life, entertaining the government lackey who had become the source of Pam's misery over the last half year.

Dr. Bramwell cast a wistful look at the long line of humans outside the club's door and nodded. "Until Friday, then."

"Of course," Pam agreed, smiling grimly and wondering if that would be so. If anything, she feared that her Maker's club would not remain standing by then. She hastily made her way back to Eric's office and flung open the door.

"How do you suppose she was trained?" Eric pondered, raising an eyebrow to his Child. "Did they ever really use watches?"

He knew the doctor's father to have been in the forefront of the use of hypnosis in treating psychiatric patients. It was, he assumed, the reason she'd been chosen to 'work' with him, though Dr. Bramwell's involvement seemed mostly relegated to copious note taking while Eric used his glamor.

"Have you any self-preservation left?" Pam hissed, and Eric looked at her iwith mild surprise. "You continue to bait her," Pam went on. "You barely listen half the time!"

"It was you who suggested this, Pamela," Eric replied coolly.

"Suggested this?" Pam's tone was incredulous, and her anger nearly froze her in place. "I suggested this?" she repeated.

Eric shrugged. "The first time," he said evenly. "It was you who suggested we may as well make money from it." He closed his eyes and leaned further back in his chair, seemingly oblivious to his Child's distress.

Since becoming a vampire, never had Pam felt her eyes burn as they did then, as if she would cry. "I did not," she said icily, though her voice wavered, "suggest crawling into bed with the United States government." When Eric remained silent, she circled his desk. "And I did not suggest, that we go against everything we are, in some depressed lack of effort to drag us all down-"

"Enough!" Eric bellowed, leaping from his chair. The pair had become increasingly antagonistic in the previous weeks, and he was at a loss as to how to resolve it. "I do exactly what is asked of me," he seethed.

"Since when?" Pam angrily countered. "Since when do you follow? Since when do you allow yourself to be used?"

"I am not!" he yelled, splintering the desktop with his fist. "They pay me!" he insisted, thumping his own chest. "I am using them!"

Pam swiftly took a step back from her Maker and lowered her eyes to the floor. Eric was the angriest she'd seen since almost a year before, and as she had then, she backed down. "It is a matter of time…" she started, and Eric laughed bitterly.

"Until what?" he asked. "I glamor...smokers, who wish to quit. Humans who wish to lose weight!"

"Government employees," Pam corrected. They were not simply run-of-the-mill humans, and that he refused to acknowledge what he was slowly being asked to glamor out of them was alarming to her.

Eric waved his hand dismissively and eased onto the couch. "They are all the same" he said distractedly.

"They have become more...complicated."

He mulled over Pam's observation, thinking back to the first woman whose behavior he had unintentionally altered. She had been young and somewhat naive in visiting a vampire club that night, and her friends had talked her into approaching him. It was unnecessary, as Eric had immediately noticed the woman, her frame and hair too familiar to have been missed.

He'd led her back to his office, against Pam's protests, and had his way with the pretty, happy blonde. She'd been willing, offering her blood as he had taken her against the wall, and he'd obliged her request. It had been weeks since Eric had fed from a human, almost as long since he'd fucked one, and his only misgiving had been the stale smell of cigarettes in her long hair. He had tasted them as she had gathered her things to leave, and without thinking, he'd admonished her, telling her never to smoke again.

His Child had watched as the woman left the club, and it had been Pam's sarcastic remark that he consider getting into the business of glamoring addicts as opposed to fucking women who looked like old girlfriends, that had started it all.

"It is your fault," Eric said quietly, and a part of her agreed. Had she not remained silent during his scheme to protect the one woman Pam had ever known him love, perhaps they would not be careening toward the disaster she knew was ahead of them.

She slid onto the couch next to him and clasped her hands. "We are in too deep, Eric. This has to end."

"We have a contract-"

"As if agreements on paper mean shit to vampires," she said, interrupting him.

The trickle of clients had been slow at first, though lucrative. Sheriff Northman had proven to be a savvy handler of humans, and Pam had been as formidable with the business end of it, as he had been with the glamoring. Together they had kept a tight lid on their illegal practice of relieving humans of their habits for profit, and no one had been as surprised as they had, the night Dr. Henrietta Bramwell had tip-toed into Fangtasia with a proposition.

"It means 'shit' for the next six months," Eric said drily, and Pam snorted.

"It is a death sentence."

He rolled his head toward her and waggled his eyebrows. "Perhaps you haven't noticed…"

But Pam had noticed. She had watched the life theoretically draining from her Maker over the previous year, and she was determined to put a stop to it. "What I notice, is that you are no longer being asked to treat addictions," she replied seriously.

Dr. Bramwell, it had turned out, worked for the federal government, an organization deeply interested in the idea of vampires who could alter human behavior. And though Eric and Pam had denied their abilities to do so, it had become clear it had been an offer they couldn't refuse. They could pay with their freedoms for their illegal activities, or they could pay with their services.

"I am aware of that."

The skeletal office clerk with an eating disorder had led to the obsessive-compulsive medical officer who could no longer treat patients. The alcoholic MP guard had given way to the sexually abused assistant of one of the officers. Eric Northman was slipping deeper and deeper into the human psyche and successfully glamoring his way out of it. He assumed it was a matter of time, before he was asked to bring certain memories along with him, instead of simply removing the unwanted behaviors.

"Eric," Pam whispered worriedly.

"We both know what they want."

When vampires had chosen to reveal themselves, when they had promised humankind that human blood would remain safely inside human bodies thanks to the invention of a synthetic substitute that could be consumed by vampires, Eric had wondered how his kind would spin the rest of the story. How would they convince humans that their minds and their lives, not just their blood, would remain safe?

Glamoring, the innate ability of every vampire to bend a human to his will, was a slippery thing. Controlling the mind, controlled the body, and its appeal to the human military establishment was not lost on him. What the government perhaps did not understand, Eric felt, was that the primary purpose of glamor resulted in death. It was intended to feed the vampire, not power-hungry humans.

"They are playing with fire," Pam hissed, her anger directed at him, as well.

"We are," he agreed, stretching his arm behind her along the couch. His long fingers idly twisted the ends of Pam's light hair, and she knew of whom it reminded him. Several minutes passed until she summoned the courage to speak again.

"You miss her." It was a gross understatement, but the most Pam dared to say.

Eric's fingers stilled ever so slightly before moving again. "She is a only a memory," he replied hoarsely. He had seen to it himself, that only he would remember, not her.

Pam nodded, her face neutral. It was time, she reasoned silently, to collect.


	2. Chapter 2

Recollector

Amelia Broadway paced, her cell phone clutched in her hand and her bare feet slapping against the boards of the small, screened-in porch. Pam was to have called the hour before, and at any moment Amelia expected her housemate to return home. Night had fallen hours ago, and she knew damn well that Pam was 'awake.'

The phone barely began to vibrate as Amelia began shrieking into it. "Goddammit! You know my nerves are shot as it is-"

"I had to wait until he left," Pam's calm voice interrupted. "And why are you yelling at me?"

"Because you're late!" Amelia replied hotly, immediately lowering her voice and glancing about her darkened neighborhood. "And because she'll be home any second and I want this shit over with!"

Pam sighed loudly and sat on the edge of Eric's desk. He'd waffled for over an hour at the club before suddenly leaving, saying he wasn't sure if he'd return that night, and she hadn't bothered to ask where he was going. She only needed him gone.

"Hello?" Amelia asked. "Are you still there?"

"Tomorrow," Pam said finally.

Amelia frowned at her phone. "What's tomorrow?"

"Bring her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Just like that, you want her tomorrow?" Amelia asked in disbelief. She'd been talking to Pam for months, and the idea that their plans were finally coming together took her by surprise.

"Is this not what we have discussed?" Pam asked sharply. "Did you not just say you wanted this shit over with?"

"Alright, no need to be snippy," Amelia snapped.

"How long will it take?"

"From Mobile to Shreveport?" Amelia wondered aloud, attempting to blow her sweaty bangs from her forehead. "I think about six hours."

"Fine," Pam replied, standing and moving toward the office door. "I will arrange a place for you to stay-"

"Pam," Amelia said seriously. "Won't he know?"

It was something Pam had often wondered. Were she able to finally orchestrate such a reunion for her Maker, would it be remotely possible to sneak anything past him?

"How does she seem?" Pam asked, and Amelia snorted.

"I don't know," she hedged. "Antsy?" Though Amelia could have been describing herself. "I'd like to think if she had any inkling that what was going on inside her was because of Eric, I'd be hiding under my bed. We'd all be hiding."

"Why would her anger be directed at you?"

Pam's tone was so sincere that Amelia laughed again. "I believe it's called aiding and abetting," she joked, not finding it the least bit funny. She was often ashamed, when she caught site of the frightened look that frequently passed over her best friend's pretty features.

"You had nothing to do with this!" Pam protested.

"Even so," Amelia said somberly, "I've certainly known the last couple of months."

Almost a year prior, when she had received a frantic phone call from her closest friend, asking if there were room in her home, Amelia had never suspected what was behind the sudden move from Louisiana. Pam had called moments afterward, begging Amelia to help, offering to pay expenses, and demanding that she call if anything 'odd' developed.

"I never should have agreed," she whispered, forgetting she was on the phone.

"None of us should have," Pam said suddenly. "To answer your question, I have no idea. I do not know how much...'contact' he maintains with her."

"Well there's definitely something there," Amelia said earnestly. "She may not know what it is, but there's something pulling her back there, for sure."

"So you do not anticipate any resistance? You believe she will come willingly?" Pam clarified, encouraged.

"Oh, she'll come. I just don't know if it's for the right reasons."

Pam smirked as she pushed her way through the main room of Fangtasia. "We will add it to the list, yes?"

"Things stupidly done for the right reasons? Sure."

"You know," Pam murmured, her tone warming Amelia's cheeks, "I look forward to seeing you, again."

"Somehow I doubt there'll be much time for chit chat, Pam."

"There is always time for chit chat. I recall spending plenty of time, chit chatting between your-"

"She's here!" Amelia blurted, ignoring Pam's cackle through the phone. "I'll call you tomorrow!"

She watched as familiar-looking headlights approached the driveway, and she forced a smile onto her face. If life were weighing heavily on her friend, it was weighing almost as heavily on Amelia.

"Hey, there!"

Amelia waved and waited. "Hey, Sookie. You need help?"

Sookie shook her head, her blonde ponytail swinging, and pulled her bag from the car. "I'm good." It was a lie, Amelia knew, but it was what Sookie always said. "I thought maybe you'd be out," she went on, climbing the porch steps.

Amelia held open the screen door and shook her head. "Nope. How was class?"

"Long," Sookie replied. "The usual."

When she had first arrived, Sookie had spent the first week, moving from room to room in Amelia's home, somewhat lost. Amelia had asked if Sookie needed a job, anything to help structure her days, but she'd simply shaken her head, saying she felt like maybe it was the time to go to college. So with Amelia's confused help, that's what Sookie had done.

"You want something to eat?" Amelia offered.

"Too late." Sookie flopped onto one of the chairs in the living room and sighed. Amelia knew, just by looking, that Sookie had lost considerable weight in the last few months, as well as barely slept. She stared at her hands for a bit before looking up. "I swear I heard someone talking to me again tonight." Her blue eyes were teary as she tried to smile. "I don't know what's wrong anymore."

It was at such moments when Amelia truly hated Eric Northman.

"The voice was so loud," Sookie went on, "and no one else seemed to hear it. I thought maybe it was someone in the hallway, so I ran out of class…" Her voice trailed off as she wiped at her face. "There was no one there."

What Amelia wanted to tell Sookie, what Amelia wanted to scream and rant at anyone who would listen, was that someone was there. She wanted Sookie to know, she was hearing someone, but not their audible voice.

"You're not crazy," Amelia said vehemently. "You're not!" You're telepathic, she thought angrily, wishing for once Sookie would mentally pick up on it.

"I'm hearing voices," Sookie argued. "That's not normal!"

Months earlier, the pair had gone out for dinner, and Amelia, lusting after their pretty waitress, had jokingly asked Sookie if the waitress felt the same. But when Sookie had eyed both of them and shrugged, asking how would she know, that she wasn't a mind reader, Amelia had choked so hard on her food, they had to leave. It had been the first of many nights, Amelia had found herself on the phone, screaming at Pam.

"You're not crazy," Amelia repeated, stomping over to her desk and flinging open a drawer. She fished out a small card and thrust it at her friend. "Here. I think I found someone."

Sookie warily took it and frowned as she read. "What the hell is a 'recollector'?" she asked skeptically, flipping the card over. "I don't even think that's a real word."

"It's a...guy," Amelia said, exasperated. "He can...he helps...he can fix your memory!"

"You think that's what this is?" Sookie asked, shocked.

Amelia was a witch, and Sookie valued her friend's opinions on anything that fell outside the norm. But Amelia had only ever alluded to spells and magical forces as a possible explanation for Sookie's distress.

"Do you think that's what the dreams are, and the things I'm hearing, maybe?" The hopefulness in her voice made Amelia want to cry.

"I really think he's the one to help," she replied cautiously. "Someone sent that to me awhile back, I just wasn't sure." Pam had forwarded it following a distraught phone call from Amelia, regarding a dream Sookie had about a blond man, whom she claimed she could not 'hear'.

Sookie nodded slowly and turned the card over again. "It's a Shreveport number, though."

"Yeah."

"We have to go back?"

Amelia nodded. "Are you okay with that?"

"Do you really think he'll help?" Sookie asked, avoiding the question.

"I know he'll try, sweetie," Amelia replied gently.

"You're sure no one here can do anything?"

"Witches? No. They can't." They wouldn't, she had tried, but once they learned it was vampire magic behind Sookie's behavior, no decent practitioner was willing to interfere.

Sookie cleared her throat and looked at Amelia. "So maybe there are memories or something, that's what's going on, and this guy can sort that out."

"I believe that's his specialty."

Sookie studied the card again. "It's a weird name."

"Be sure you tell him that," Amelia grumbled.

"When do think he can see me?"

"Um, Wednesday? I was thinking we could head out tomorrow, just to be sure we get there?"

Sookie stood abruptly and shook out her hands. "It's not like I was planning on going back to that class, that's for sure."

"I'm sorry-" Amelia started, but Sookie waved her off.

"Don't worry about it, my heart wasn't really in it. I'll see you in the morning?" she asked, and Amelia nodded. She waited until she was sure Sookie was settled in bed before making another call.

"Pam here."

"What's he like?" Amelia asked, ignoring the female vampire's curt greeting. "Does he just...wander around, like he's not sure what he should be doing?"

"This will all be over-"

"Do you hate yourself like I do for this?" Amelia demanded tearfully. "Do you hate what he's become? Do you look at him and wonder who the fuck he is anymore? I mean, does he look and sound like him, but he's not?"

"Amelia-"

"How could he have done this to her?" she hissed, months of anger welling up inside her. It wasn't the first time she'd asked Pam, but Amelia was hoping she'd soon have the chance to ask the man himself.

"He didn't know-"

"I hope he's ready Pam, I really do. I hope he's ready to fix this, because if he doesn't…" Amelia stopped to control her sobs, and Pam sighed.

"He will fix this," she said tiredly, not looking forward to handling two unstable human women in addition to her apathetic Maker.

"Because he's done such a fantastic job so far-"

"Enough!" Pam said angrily. "Let us examine how perfect your record is, after a thousand years-"

"Well, luckily I won't have to skulk around that long-"

Pam's sudden growl silenced Amelia. "Just bring her."

"Like that doesn't sound ominous!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Pam exclaimed. "Do you sincerely believe if there were a chance I could get away with killing her, I would not have taken it already? It would be the humane thing, if you ask me."

Amelia's mouth hung open for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. "I cannot believe you said that," she said finally.

"Said what?" Pam asked distractedly, as her thoughts had already moved onto the nights ahead.

"You'd kill her?"

"Of course not, I was showing you my sincerity in seeing this through. I would never harm her, unless ordered to do so. You know this." And as Eric had specifically requested that no harm ever come to Sookie, Pam felt it was a moot point.

Amelia pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. "What does she actually see in them?" Amelia wondered aloud, and Pam snickered.

"I do not understand it, either, but it is as if there is nothing without her, so…"

Amelia nodded, though Pam couldn't see her, and silently agreed. It was how she would have described Sookie, as well. "That's exactly what's left of her, Pam...nothing."


	3. Chapter 3

Recollector

"I expected to meet you at Fangtasia," Dr. Bramwell said as she lowered her car window.

Eric leaned down to peer into the otherwise empty vehicle and smiled. "I was in the neighborhood…"

She glanced around the quiet street. "Is your car nearby?"

"Not really." He'd left it at the club, deciding to fly instead, and had called the doctor upon landing approximately a mile from her home. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, and she nodded.

"Would you prefer to meet at my home?" she offered politely, but Eric shook his head.

He knew that the doctor lived in a nest, with three other female vampires, and he had no desire to interrupt their evening. "You may drive, if you wish. Or park somewhere." It was irrelevant to him, he only wished to have a private conversation with her.

"There's a shopping center a few miles from here," Dr. Bramwell suggested.

"Fine."

The ride was silent, eventually ending in the parking lot of a strip mall, and neither made a move as the doctor parked in a corner of the large lot.

"I was surprised to see you there along the road," she said casually. "I did not assume you knew where I lived." She had not assumed the huge, brooding vampire gave her any thought aside from the begrudging attention he was forced to pay her each week.

"I was surprised to see you lived in Texas," Eric replied, shifting to face her. He knew the doctor was not from his own Area, but he had guessed she was close to a military base. "Are your clients from Fort Worth, then?"

"Barksdale."

"I see." The Air Force base near Shreveport made more logistical sense than the one closer to her home near Fort Worth.

"How can I help you, Sheriff?" she asked, and Eric chuckled.

"Spoken like a psychiatrist, Doctor. I suppose that is one reason I wished to speak with you."

Dr. Bramwell cocked her head and frowned. "My profession?"

"It is a rarity to find a vampire in your field," he observed, noting the stiffening of her posture.

"I hadn't practiced in years," she said quietly, staring out her window. It wasn't until the Great Reveal, the moment vampires had collectively decided to announce their presences to the human world, that anyone had shown interest that Henrietta Bramwell existed.

"I registered along with everyone else," she continued, "and that's when they contacted me."

"The government?" Eric clarified, and she nodded. "You missed your work?"

Dr. Bramwell was thoughtful for a moment. "I did. Perhaps not the work, but the science of it...the patients. I didn't mind discussing my background...hypnosis…"

"Glamoring…"

"Exactly. It did not surprise me that we had the capability. That it existed." She gestured to Eric. "You've used it for centuries."

It was at that moment that he felt he had a clear view of Dr. Bramwell's motivation. The first century of Eric's vampire existence, like the doctor's, had been strongly influenced by his earlier human life. He could see himself in her, with her interests and desires as a human and how she was attempting to apply them to her current life. While Eric was past the need to make sense of his vampirism, Dr. Bramwell was very much fascinated with the transition, as most young vampires were at some point.

"So, who wins?" he asked.

"I don't understand."

"You work for humans, exposing vampires." He raised his eyebrows and repeated himself. "What is the outcome of this 'experiment' of yours?" Eric was baiting her, hoping to flesh out how far she'd come to accept what she was.

"Exposing vampires?" she asked sharply. "You believe you are still closeted?"

It was the most emotion he'd seen in her, and he smiled. "Is this research, or practice, Doctor?"

"I could ask the same of you, Sheriff," she replied stiffly, and he laughed.

"I do not feel the need to research any aspect of vampire behavior, nor do I need the practice." Eric adjusted his seat to better accommodate his large frame while Dr. Bramwell openly assessed him.

It was riveting, watching him work with their subjects, or clients, as he preferred to call them. To observe a vampire such as Eric Northman as closely as she was allowed, to spend such unrestricted amounts of time with him as were required, was more exciting than anything she'd experienced. As rare as he claimed Dr. Bramwell to be, he was, she felt, more so.

"No," she agreed, nodding. "You do not."

"Who signs your paycheck, if I may ask?"

"You may," Dr. Bramwell answered slowly. "The government pays me the same fee they would a human consultant." She had no idea if it were true, but she did not do it for the monetary compensation, so to her, it did not matter.

"You are not enlisted?" Eric asked.

"No vampires are, as far as I know. I assume we don't fit the admission criteria for any of the military branches." She glanced at him, confused. "Why have you not asked me these questions before?"

"I was not sure where your...work was going," he admitted.

"And now you are?" A sense of dread was building in the doctor, not for her safety or his, but for the idea that Eric would refuse to participate. "Are you considering ending the contract?"

Eric snorted, genuinely surprised by her question. "Do you believe that to be an option, Doctor? Have your bosses gathered all the information they require?"

"You could end it this evening with a phone call," she said sincerely. "I'm sure you're familiar with the paperwork required to achieve anything. Neither of us actually exists, not in any sense that matters or would hold up in court." Dr. Bramwell wondered if that were his concern, that he would be punished for his illegal activities.

"All the easier to make us disappear," Eric replied, and it was the doctor's turn to scoff.

"They have no idea what to do with us, I promise you. If you have envisioned yourself held captive, know that you would die unintentionally, as opposed to any other method. It took them over a month to understand why I was not returning their phone calls during the day!" she exclaimed.

"Humans on a mission can be quite effective," Eric argued.

"They can, of course," she agreed, deferring to his age and experience. "They have no idea, though, of your capabilities."

It was what Eric had been waiting to learn, to what extent the doctor had been honest, to the government, or to her kind. "What have you told them?" he asked bluntly. "You do nothing but write."

"The notes I take?" she asked, and he nodded. "Those are not my reports. They'd prefer them on computer, but I enjoy filling out the forms." Dr. Bramwell's eyes flashed and she smiled to herself. "They struggle with my penmanship."

Eric was skeptical. "They surely do not think you unintelligent?"

"You haven't been part of a large institution, have you?" she asked honestly. "A hospital, or a corporation?" Eric had been around long enough that she'd often wondered what he'd done to occupy his time.

"I am a Sheriff," he pointed out drily. He knew what she was implying, that the top rarely understood or paid attention to what was going on at the bottom. "You believe you can remain closeted?"

"I am as capable of misinformation as anyone."

A young human couple passed by the car, laughing and holding hands, unaware of the vampires watching them.

"Why do you suppose it works?" Eric asked, his eyes narrowed as he followed the pair.

Dr. Bramwell shrugged. "Suggestibility. The receptive nature of the brain, and the body's ability at the moment. In our case, magic."

"You have seen what it can do," he said, referring to the mental state glamoring could achieve, when pushed too far.

"If you mean on the surface, of course. I am familiar with pets, as well, if that is what you mean." The curious scientist in Dr. Bramwell won out over the inexperienced vampire as she asked another question. "Have you ever removed memories permanently, Sheriff? Without harming the human?"

Eric flinched internally at the innocent question, but remained silent. He had tried, but in truth, had no way to measure his 'success'. Only once had he delved so deeply into a human's mind with the intention of permanently altering it, and it had left him so unsettled, he had sworn not to do it again.

"I apologize, it's none of my-"

"Do not," he said emphatically. "I believe what you have asked me to do, so far, has worked," he went on, looking to see that she was following him.

"My follow-up exams seem to support that," she agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

"I also believe," Eric said, pausing to gather his thoughts. "I believe I could permanently alter a human mind. Whether that means memories, or behaviors…" His voice trailed off as he stared out the car window.

"The question remains, whether it's harmful or not?" Dr. Bramwell finished for him, and he nodded slightly.

"Your government, I am sure, will not care, either way," he added finally. "Some vampires will not, either." Expendable was expendable.

The car was quiet once again, each passenger deep in thought. "Well, then," Dr. Bramwell said, her face determined. "I will ask you another question," she offered.

Eric smirked and faced her again, pleased that he could see that the vampire in her was as much a part as the human psychiatrist. "I prefer the right question," he warned.

The doctor smiled brightly, her fangs extended. "How would you like to spin it?"


End file.
